Attorney of the Opera
by TheEpicPenguin
Summary: Apollo Justice, a dancer at the Opera Populaire, has been secretly taking singing lessons from a mysterious Angel of Music. When he's suddenly thrust into the spotlight, he owes it all to the Angel-but soon discovers that the heavenly figure may be a devil in disguise.
1. Hannibal

**Hello, everyone!**

_Wow, _I haven't written a story in...I wanna say...forever? At least not that I've published here. I've gotten older; I've finished school; moved on from certain fandoms. Life in general has changed a LOT, but rest assured I'm still alive, and still love writing dumb fanfiction in my nonexistent spare time!

I'm a huge fan of the Ace Attorney series, and after I saw a Tumblr post suggesting a POTO x AA crossover, the idea just wouldn't leave my head. So here we are! Hope y'all enjoy.

Cheers,

EpicPenguin

**Chapter 1: Hannibal**

Apollo has been through many rough rehearsals, but this one is something else entirely.

For starters, the set isn't finished, so he and the other members of the corps de ballet are having to dance around pieces of unpainted wood, tools, and ladders. Second, their principle tenor can't seem to pronounce his Italian right, which irritates Monsieur Edgeworth, the repetiteur, to no end.

"Once again, Monsieur Lang, it is _Roma. _Not _Rome._" He slams a hand on his music stand."Please, attend to your pronunciation!"

"Tch." Lang cocks his head. "Doesn't make sense to me. Why can't we just sing it in regular English? Lang Zi says: _A bird that sings a different song is unknown to its flock._"

"Foolish words from a foolish fool." La Franziska, their leading soprano, glares. At least she doesn't have her whip, since she's loaned it to Apollo for his role as the slave driver. "The original language of this opera is Italian, is it not? Make an effort, or else take your common tongue out to the street where it belongs!"

"Hah!" Lang grins at her. "Don't think you can intimidate me, kitten. The pack is nothing without its alpha."

Edgeworth taps on his arm. "…Nonetheless. At least _try_ to do it justice."

Apollo blows out a breath. He catches Trucy's eye. She grins, bouncing on her pointe shoes. How can she be so calm? Opening night is in seven hours, and they haven't managed to do a full run-through even once!

"_Sad to return to find the land we love—" _Lang turns to Franziska, deliberately exaggerating the word—_ "—threatened once more by __**Roma's **__far-reaching grasp."_

Apollo grips his whip, ready to enter. Just then, however, the theatre's owner appears directly in their midst, two thin, weasel-like men in tow. One has the worst comb-over Apollo has ever seen, while the other has a pompadour so thick and plastic-looking, it can only be a wig. The music dies away.

Apollo's spikes droop. _Not again. _

"Rehearsals, as you can see, are underway for a new production of Chalumeu's _Hannibal,_" the owner is saying. He strokes his bushy gray beard. "I remember my first days as owner. I hadn't the slightest idea how to run an Opera House! I had originally planned to be a judge, you see. But fate intervened, and well…here we are! Ho ho… life certainly takes us in unexpected directions…"

"As scintillating as your reminiscences are, perhaps we should get on with it, Monsieur Judge?" says the man with the comb-over.

"Ah, yes." He turns to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention? Some of you may have already met Monsieur Payne and…dear me, what was it again?"

"Monsieur Payne," says the man with the pompadour. "We're brothers, you see. I am Gaspen, and this is my brother, Winston."

"A-ha! So you're both a Payne!" says the owner. He blinks. "Er…wait. That didn't come out quite right."

"Ahem. Don't you have an announcement to make, Monsieur Judge?" says Gaspen.

"Oh, yes!" He turns to face the actors once again. "Ladies and gentlemen, I know that for some weeks there have been rumors buzzing about my imminent retirement. Well, I'm here to tell you that these rumors are all true—"

Apollo recoils. _Wh-whaaaat?!_

"They're true?" gasps Trucy, her eyes wide.

"Indeed! It has been a marvelous ride, but now it is time for me to pursue other adventures. You know what they say: you're never too old to be young!"

"Wow," Trucy whispers, turning to Apollo. "I never thought Monsieur Judge would retire! He's always looked exactly the same…I never thought he was actually getting older."

Apollo starts to reply, but then his thoughts come to a screeching halt. A tall blonde man steps out of the shadows, nodding to the crowd. He's lean and muscular, his bangs falling into his eyes with an easy grace.

The world freezes. Apollo's jaw hits the floor. No _way._

"—and I am also honored to introduce your brand-new patron, the Vicompte de Gavin!" says Monsieur Judge.

"My parents and I are honored to support all the arts," says Monsieur Gavin, his voice low and musical. Apollo immediately looks at the floor, willing himself to blend into the scenery.

_Why him? Why here? Why now?_

"Polly? Are you okay?" Trucy puts a hand on his arm. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Y-yeah."

Memories flash across his mind. _His mother's voice echoing through the floorboards, accompanied by the harpsichord. Rain drumming on the attic's wooden roof. Reaching for the last chocolate in the box, only for his hand to bump into Klavier's. Klaver stares at him for a moment, before he smiles, gesturing for Apollo to take it. Apollo plans to only eat half the chocolate, but the caramel filling gushes out, covering his fingers. Klavier laughs. Not to be outdone, Apollo passes other half of the sticky mess to Klavier anyway. Klavier eats it, not bothered in the slightest._

Apollo's head is spinning.

"Excuse me, Your Honor, but we are _rehearsing!_" Monsieur Edgeworth's voice breaks into his thoughts. The man is bent over his music stand, grimacing. "If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment?..."

"Oh!" Monsieur Judge blinks. "Yes. My apologies. Carry on, everyone!"

They shuffle off to the side. Apollo yanks himself back to reality, wiping his sweaty palms on his costume. The music starts up. He tries to keep his face hidden from the Vicompte as he weaves in and out among the slave girls, cracking his whip.

"I shall certainly be ready to retire once all the arrangements are made," Monsieur Judge is saying.

"Theatre life too exciting for you, Your Honor?" smirks Winston, tapping his forehead.

For a moment, the Judge's smile drops. The lines around his face become deeper. "Oh…yes. Very, erm, exciting, indeed."

"_Objection!_" A voice slices through the air. "Apollo! Concentrate!"

"Ack! S-sorry!" Apollo corrects his steps.

"Monsieur Phoenix Wright, our Ballet Master," Monsieur Judge says, pointing to the man who had shouted.

"Welcome, Messieurs," says Monsieur Wright. He's dressed in dark blue suit, his posture deceptively casual. "I hope that you will find our ballet troupe satisfactory. We take great pride in it."

"Mmm, yes, I can see why," mused Gaspen, gazing at the dancers. "Especially that little brown-haired angel, over there. Such skill!"

"That would be my daughter, Trucy," said Phoenix. His tone sounds amiable, but Apollo can hear the warning layered beneath it.

"O-Oh," says Gaspen, clearing his throat. "Erm, I see. And that young man, over there?"

"Apollo Justice." Phoenix shakes his head. "Always has his head in the clouds, I'm afraid."

_Hey! _Apollo grits his teeth. He focuses on his steps, executing a perfect pirouette a la seconde.

_Take that, Monsieur Wright!_

Phoenix's smile broadens. "Still, he's got a lot of talent. I think we can expect great things from him."

"Justice…" Winston taps his forehead, in an exact imitation of his brother. "That name rings a bell. There couldn't be any relation to the famous singer Thalassa Justice, could there?"

"Of course not!" Gaspen scoffs. "Why, dancers are the very dregs of society! The lowest of the low! It could only be a coincidence."

"He's her only son," says Phoenix. "When his mother died, he had nowhere to go, so I brought him here to live with me and Trucy."

The Gaspen brothers gape. Phoenix quickly ushers them off to the side to make room for the finale. Trucy winks at Apollo as he and the other dancers move to flank the big wooden elephants. Franziska's soprano rings through the theatre.

"_The trumpeting elephants sound,_

_Hear Romans, now, and tremble! _

_Hark to their step on the ground! _

_Hear the drums! _

_Hannibal comes!..._"

On the last line, Lang's sword gets stuck in the sheath. He yanks it free and holds it up just in time for the last note. They hold it for a moment. Then everyone exhales.

Well, almost everyone. Franziska immediately marches over to the owners, her glare as sharp as Lang's sword. Apollo backs up, doing a quick check around. The Vicompte is nowhere to be seen. Apollo exhales.

"Hey, Polly," Trucy hurries to his side. "What's with you all of a sudden?"

"What do you mean?"

"Duh! When the Vicompte came in. Your mouth was so wide, you looked like a fish!"

"It's nothing, Truce. I'm fine."

"You can't fool me, you know. I can spot romance a mile away." She bounces. "You should go talk to him!"

"Wait, wh-what?"

"No time to waste! When it comes to love, you have to be a go-getter. He's amazingly handsome, after all. If you don't snap him up, someone else will!"

"Wha—no, Truce, you've got the wrong idea!" Apollo protests, trying to keep his voice down. He glances around, but most peoples' attention is focused on the scene between the owners and Franziska. "I don't_ like_ him!"

"You don't need to be scared, Polly! He couldn't keep his eyes off you. If that doesn't spell 'love at first sight,' I don't know what does!"

Before Apollo can respond, Franziska strides to center stage, calling for silence. The Paynes mop their brows, looking thoroughly scolded.

"Will two bars be sufficient introduction?" Monsieur Edgeworth asks. Franziska nods. The music begins.

No more than eight bars in, there's a sharp snap. Fransizka looks up and throws her arms over her head as a backdrop crashes down, missing her by inches. Everyone screams. The lights flicker overhead.

"Good lord, what was that?!" Winston cries.

"He's here!" whispers Trucy, clinging to Apollo's arm. "The Phantom of the Opera!"

"Sahwit? Where is Sahwit!?" cries the Judge.

A sniveling man in a ratty vest runs in from the wings, wringing his hands.

"You called for me, Monsiuer Judge!"

"Sahwit! What is the meaning of this?!" demands the Judge, gesturing to the backdrop. "Someone could have been hurt!"

"Oh! Well, erm, you see…"

"Were all of the ropes properly tied? Or perhaps one broke!"

"Y-yes! Yes, that's exactly it! One of the ropes broke, and the backdrop fell before I could stop it! I apologize, Signora."

"Objection!" Phoenix's voice carries clearly from the side.

"I beg your pardon?" says Sahwit.

"You're lying. Have a look at the ropes. The edges are cut, not frayed. This was a deliberate act."

"Gurk!" Sahwit makes a choking sound. "Y-you're not suggesting…"

"No one else is on duty in the catwalks. Assuming you were there the whole time, the only one who could have dropped them is you."

"It—it wasn't me! How dare you! Vile slander!..."

"Oh, really? I find it hard to believe that anyone could have snuck in and cut through multiple ropes without you noticing. Unless…you weren't at your post the whole time?"

"Is that true, Sahwit?" says the Judge, turning on him. Sahwit clenches his teeth.

"Mmmmph….grrrr!..." He pants. "…Alright, fine! I admit it: I stepped out for a few minutes! I had some important business to take care of."

"You were shirking your duties again!? After I specifically warned you that the next time, you would be packing your things!?" says the Judge.

"Hey, business is business. You should know that, Monsieur Judge."

"You're lucky I'm no longer the owner of this theatre, Monsieur Sahwit," says the Judge sternly. "If I were you, I would be asking forgiveness from Messieurs Payne here. Perhaps, if you're lucky, they'll give you another chance."

Sahwit gulps. He turns to the owners, reverting to his sycophantic, hand-wringing self.

"Please, Messieurs, I didn't mean any harm. We were only gone for five minutes tops. Cross my heart!"

"We?"

"Well, you see…I have a lady friend in the costume department…she can vouch for me. We didn't go far—we were right near the catwalks the whole time. If you ask me, it must've been a ghost that sliced those ropes!"

"I knew it! It's the Phantom!" says Trucy. All the ballet girls shriek and squeal.

"Phantoms? Ghosts? What utter nonsense!" scoffs Winston. "This was an accident, pure and simple."

"An accident!?" Franziska turns to the owners, teeth bared. "You say this was an _accident!?_"

"I—w-well—"

"You heart Monsieur Wright present his case! Look at these ropes. This was clearly an intentional act!"

"Y-yes. We apologize!" says Gaspen, sweating. "I assure you, we will find the culprit and bring them to justice!..."

"Foolish promises from foolish fools!" Franziska grabs her whip from Apollo, cracking it. "You two couldn't find your feet in a dark room! How do you expect to catch a culprit who can stealth his way around the catwalks?!"

"W-well, perhaps Monsieur Judge will be able to help—YEOWCH!"

"Hah!" Lang grins. "You think this is the first time one of these 'accidents' has happened? News flash, Paynes: they've been happening for the last three years. Monsieur Judge has been about as useless as you I when it comes to catching the culprit."

"I am sick of being surrounded by a bunch of foolish fools who foolishly fool around when there is a fool of a culprit on the loose!" Franziska cracks her whip. Apollo backs up. "Lang! Gather your things. We are leaving!"

"Leaving?!" gasps Winston.

"But—" sputters Gaspen.

"Sounds good." Lang pulls off his helmet, tossing it to the owners. "So long, Messieurs. Catch that culprit, and maybe we'll consider coming back. Till then, _sayonara._"

He follows Franziska off the stage. There's a moment of silence.

"Well…on that note…I believe the time has come for me to take my leave, as well," says Monsieur Judge. "Best of luck, Messieurs Payne! I shall think of you all during my swimming classes!"

"B-but!—" Winston tries. Chatter erupts among the cast and crew.

"Whoa! This is the most exciting thing to happen since Larry got stuck in his horse costume during _La Animalia,_" says Trucy.

"Why are you smiling!?" says Apollo. "In case you haven't noticed, it's six hours to showtime! How are we going to put on a show with both of our leads missing?"

"Don't worry, Polly. We'll just find a replacement! Besides, we've got Lang's part already covered, so we don't need to worry about that."

"What do you mean? Who do we know that can—?"

Trucy looks at him earnestly. Apollo stops.

"No."

"You could do it, Polly! I know you could."

"No _way!"_

Just then, they're interrupted as the Paynes shout from across the room.

"_Twenty thousand francs!?"_ Winston's eyes are bugging larger than Apollo's bruises from rehearsal. He's gazing at a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Unless you think you could afford more, with the Vicompte as your patron," says Phoenix.

"Monsieur Wright, I was planning to make that public knowledge later tonight, when Monsieur Gavin was supposed to join us for the performance!" Gaspen seizes the letter, crumpling it. "But apparently, there will no longer _be _a performance, as we seem to have lost _both _of our leads!"

"We shall have to refund a full house!" exclaims Winston. "This is a travesty!"

Trucy grabs Apollo's wrist, yanking him forward.

"Apollo could sing Lang's part, Monsieur!" she says.

"Trucy!" he exclaims. The owners seem to share his own disbelief.

"A boy from the chorus!? Don't be ridiculous!" says Winston.

"He's really good, Messieurs! I've heard him practicing!"

"I'm not _that _good," he insists. _Ack! I thought I was being quiet!_

"Don't sell yourself short, Polly. Your voice could practically turn lead into gold!"

"Hmph, is that so?" says Gaspen. "You must have been taught by someone. Who is your instructor?"

"I…I don't know, sir."

"You don't _know?" _the ownersneers. Apollo's face burns.

"I mean—look, just forget it, okay? Trucy was just making a joke!"

"You might be pleasantly surprised." Monsieur Wright steps forward, a half-smile on his face. Apollo stares at him.

"Monsieur Wright?"

"Really, this is a waste of time!" protests Gaspen.

"Let him sing for you, Messieurs." Phoenix says firmly. "I promise you, he has been well-taught."

There's a pause, before Winston throws up his hands.

"Oh, fine. Fine! What have we got to lose?"

"Monsieur Wright?! What are you _doing?" _Apollo hisses.

"Apollo." Phoenix places a hand on his shoulder. He looks him in the eye. "You can do this."

_Dammit!_ Apollo blows out a breath.

"Fine. I'll do it."

"Good." Phoenix squeezes his shoulder and walks away. Apollo takes a deep breath, straightening his back.

"From the beginning of the aria, then, please, Monsieur Justice," says Edgeworth.

_Okay. I'm Apollo Justice, and I'm fine!_

The music begins. He relaxes his shoulders, and begins to sing.

"_Think of me…_

_Think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye…"_

His voice is clear, if a little soft. The room falls silent.

"_Remember me…_

_Once in a while; please promise me you'll try…" _

Sweat breaks out on his forehead. He glances at Monsieur Wright. The man gives him a subtle nod.

Apollo turns back to the audience, letting his voice ring out through the gilded room. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flicker of movement in Box Five.

Monsieur Wright clears his throat. Apollo refocuses.

_Right. Here we go. Time for Justice!_


	2. Angel of Music

_***_Content warning for this chapter: mild implied homophobia; no slurs used.

**Chapter 2: Angel of Music**

Later that night, Apollo stumbles back to his dressing room. The ballet girls surround him like a school of fish, all shrieking and talking at once, but he barely hears them. His mind and heart are both racing a million miles per hour.

"That's enough!" Phoenix suddenly appears in their midst. The others fall silent. He approaches Apollo, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"You did well, Apollo. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Monsieur Wright." Apollo smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. The scene still flashes in his mind: the vast theatre, the richly-dressed guests, the thunderous roar of applause that had followed his performance.

Phoenix leans closer, lowering his voice.

"I'm sure _he _will be pleased, too."

Apollo stops. Phoenix turns to the other dancers.

"As for the rest of you, though…your performance needs some work. Be in the theatre at five a.m. tomorrow. We'll rehearse those _ronds de jambe_ as many times as it takes to get them right."

There are immediate groans of protest.

"Unless you'd rather rehearse right now?"

The groans die away.

"I thought so. All right, time for bed, all of you." Phoenix ushers them out of the room. Apollo starts to call after him, but with a last half-smile, Phoenix closes the door.

He collapses into a chair. He feels like he should be more surprised, but then again, Monsieur Wright seemed to know everyone and everything that went on under the opera's roof. Hopefully the Angel wouldn't mind. Hopefully he'd be pleased by Apollo's performance.

The minutes tick by. Apollo waits. In the silence, his breathing seems louder than the entire orchestra. Goosebumps break out across his arms.

Just when he can't stand the tension any longer, a soft voice echoes through the room.

"_Bravo, bravo, bravissimo." _

Relief floods through Apollo. He breathes out, slumping forward. He did it.

"Polly?" Trucy's muffled voice comes from the other side of the door. Apollo barely has time to lift his head before the door flies open, and then Trucy is hugging him so hard he can barely breathe.

"Polly, you did it! I knew you could! You were _amazing _out there!"

"Th-thanks, Truce," he mumbles.

"Why are you hiding away in here? There's a whole crowd outside clamoring for your autograph! Even the Vicompte was among them." She puts her hands on her hips, wiggling an eyebrow. Apollo's face flames.

_Calm down. He probably doesn't even remember you. _

Trucy keeps talking, bouncing up and down.

"I didn't know you were taking singing lessons, Polly. Who's been teaching you? You've sure kept awfully quiet about it! Is it someone here at the theatre?"

"Um…yeah." He turns his back, pretending to be looking through the heap of notes and flowers from admirers atop the dressing table.

"Oooooh, I knew it! Is it Monsieur Edgeworth? After all, he's a pretty good singer!"

He shakes his head.

"No, it's not him."

"Monsieur Blackquill, maybe?"

"No! Are you crazy? I'd rather stab myself with one of his prop swords than ask _him_ for singing lessons!"

"Then spill! Who is it?" she says.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you!"

"Try me!"

"Look, just _drop it,_ okay!?"

His Chords of Steel make Trucy jump. Apollo winces.

"Sorry. That…came out harsher than I intended. It's just something I'd rather keep private, that's all."

"You can trust me, Polly. I won't tell anyone. I promise!"

Apollo leans on the dressing table.

"You _swear?"_

"Cross my heart."

"Fine." Apollo takes a deep breath. "You know how I told you about my mom? How she had the most beautiful voice you'd ever heard?"

"Yeah. If her voice was anything like yours, she must've sounded like an angel."

"Yeah, well…when she died, she made a promise to me. She always said that she had a beautiful voice because she'd been blessed by an angel of music. When she died, she promised that she'd send that same angel to me."

"Huh?" Trucy's brow furrows. "You mean…you're being taught by an _angel?_"

"I know, it sounds crazy, but trust me. I've heard him. He gives me lessons, right here, in this room. Even when I'm not in here, I can still feel him watching me."

"Wh-what? Polly, that's crazy! Angels aren't real. They're just from stories."

"Don't say that! He's probably watching us right now!"

"Are you feeling okay?" Trucy grabs his hand. "Your hands are like ice!"

"I owe him everything!" His voice is too loud. "He's the reason why I was able to take over for Lang tonight. I won't abandon him just because you think I'm crazy!..."

"Polly, you're white as a sheet!" Trucy looks panicked. "I'll go get Daddy. He'll know what to do."

"I'm _fine!_" He wrenches his hand out of her grasp. "See, _this _is why I didn't want to tell you!"

"Don't be scared, Polly. We'll figure this out! We'll—"

The door opens.

"Trucy." Phoenix smiles gently. "You ought to get to bed. We've got an early rehearsal tomorrow."

"Daddy…" Trucy glances at Apollo. He gives her a hard stare. _You promised!_

"Go ahead, Truce. Don't worry, everything's fine."

"But—"

"Trust me."

Trucy still looks worried, but she drops Apollo's hand.

"…Okay, Daddy. 'Night, Polly."

"G'night, Truce."

When she's gone, Phoenix turns to him.

"Apollo. I was asked to give you this."

The note is written on real stationery, Apollo's name penned in elegant script. He rips it open.

_A red scarf…the attic…Mein Leibling!_

The room spins. He collapses onto the chair before the vanity, only dimly aware of Monsieur Wright leaving. Soon, there are other voices outside.

"…tour de force! No other word to describe it!" says one Payne.

"And not a single refund!" says the other.

"Gaspen, I think we've made a tremendous discovery in Monsieur Justice!"

"Ah, yes; his room is right here. Now, Monsieur le Vicompte—"

"_Herren_, if you wouldn't mind, this is one visit I should prefer to make unaccompanied," says the Vicompte. Apollo turns away from the door as it creaks open.

"Herr Justice." The voice is deeper than Apollo remembers. "Where is your scarf?"

"M-Monsieur?" he says, as evenly as he can manage.

"Ach! Surely you haven't lost it? After all the trouble I took to fetch it for you? I ruined a perfectly good pair of breeches in that salt water, you know."

"Uh…really?"

"Do you not remember?" Klavier's voice tilts downward. "I was fourteen, I believe, and you were twelve? We went down to the seashore together, with our families…"

"No, I…" Apollo takes a deep breath.

"We snuck out for a walk, just you and I. And then, when your scarf blew away into the waves, I just had to do something." Mischief colors his voice. "After all, I thought, without something to cover that massive forehead of his, he's sure to catch a chill."

"Hey!" Apollo protests, turning around. Klavier laughs. He's taller, far taller than Apollo would have guessed. His tuxedo tapers at the waist, drawing attention to his tight waistcoat and fitted pants. Apollo's palms go damp again.

"I knew that would get your attention," Klavier says. "_Mein liebling_, it's so good to see you again!"

"Yeah…likewise." Apollo rubs the back of his neck. "I thought you wouldn't remember me."

"How could I ever forget you? All those picnics we had in the attic? The hundreds of chocolates we ate, stuffing the wrappers into our shoes so the maids wouldn't find them?"

"Telling each other ghost stories and riddles." Apollo grins.

"The way you would practically jump into my lap when they became too scary."

He blushes. "W-well, you were always grabbing my hand! You held on so tight I could barely feel my fingers!"

"Ah, Herr Justice, may I make a confession? All those times, I was merely pretending to be scared. In truth, I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand."

"You didn't need an excuse," Apollo mumbles. Klavier moves towards him.

"Those were some of the best moments of my life, being with you," he says softly. "I can't believe I found you again."

Apollo's face feels like it's on fire. He has to say something.

"So—how is your father?" he blurts out.

Klavier's smile drops.

"Ah. He's gone, I'm afraid. He succumbed to influenza last winter."

Apollo mentally kicks himself. _Dammit! _Of course Klavier's father must be dead; why else would Klavier be the Vicompte now?

"Oh, god, I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Sorry."

"_Ganz gleich. _It's alright. We…never saw eye-to-eye, as you know."

_The trapdoor crashing open. Klavier's hand torn from his, both of them being yanked down the ladder. Standing on the Persian carpet, cold glares boring into them both. Richart's lips moving, saying things Apollo's mind won't let him remember. His mother hustling him from the room, apologizing profusely. _

_They hadn't been invited over much after that._

"Still, it couldn't have been easy to lose him."

"I suppose you would know as well as I." Klavier's eyes are full of compassion. "I'm very sorry to hear about your mother. She had the voice of an angel."

"Yeah." The mention of the word _angel _gives him a funny feeling in his stomach.

"And she clearly passed that gift along to you. Your performance tonight was utterly incredible."

"Well…" He hesitates.

Suddenly, Klavier leans forward, wrapping his arms around Apollo. Trucy hugs Apollo all the time, but her hugs are swift and powerful, whereas this…this is warm and gentle. Klavier smells like silk and lavender soap. Apollo can't help it—he melts into the touch. When they break apart, the words spill out.

"When Mom died, she said she would send the Angel of Music to me. Well, the thing is…Mom's gone now, and…"

"And?" Klavier looks at him expectantly.

"I really_ have_ been visited by the Angel."

"_Wahrlich. _I do not doubt it for a second. And now, you'll accompany me to supper, ja?"

"I—I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

"It's the Angel. He's really strict about timing. I have to be here for my lesson, or else—"

"I think your angel can wait a _few _minutes." Klavier winks. "It's not every day that old friends have a chance to catch up with each other."

"But—"

"You should change out of that nightshirt. It wouldn't do for Paris' new star to be seen looking as if he's half-asleep, ja? I will get my hat. Two minutes, _mein leibling._" He heads for the door.

"Wait, Klavier!—"

The door closes. Disappointment crashes over Apollo like a wave. He should've expected this. Any outsider would think him crazy for having a disembodied tutor. Why should Klavier be any different?

Then, just as quickly, fear grips him. He told Klavier about the Angel. Their agreement had been sacred: _Tell no one of our lessons. _He's broken that agreement. Twice.

If the Angel heard him—

Then, without warning, a voice booms through the dressing room, loud and wrathful.

"_Insolent boy, the slave of fashion, _

_Basking in your glory!..._

_Ignorant __**fool! **__This brave young suitor, _

_Sharing in __**my **__triumph!"_

Ice floods Apollo's stomach.

"_Angel, I hear you! Speak—I listen!" _he sings, in the best voice he can manage. _"Stay by my side! Guide me!..." _

He can sense the Angel pause his tirade. He pushes on.

"_Angel, my soul was weak. Forgive me!_

_Enter at last, Master!..."_

The voice almost seems to laugh as it responds.

"_Flattering child, you shall know me… _

_See why in shadow I hide—"_

Apollo's stomach clenches. _See him?_

"—_Look at your face in the mirror,_

_I am there, inside!"_

As he turns to the mirror, the glass fades away, revealing a figure. Tall, clad in black, blonde hair swept over one shoulder. If he'd had the leisure at that moment to think, he might have thought how similar it looked to Klavier's.

But at the sight of the stranger, his mind seems to go numb. He can't speak, can't breathe. His gaze is fixed only on the man. The Angel.

Smoke swirls around the figure. A white mask covers half his face, glowing eerily in the candlelight. He gazes at Apollo.

"_I am your Angel of Music…Come to me, Angel of Music!"_

Apollo's legs carry him forward. The Angel stretches out a gloved hand. Apollo takes it.

"_I am your Angel of Music…Come to me, Angel of Music!..."_

They walk through the mirror, and darkness descends.


	3. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

**Chapter 3: Stranger Than You Dreamt It**

Apollo awakens to a soft tinkling sound. A music box sits beside him, the monkey figurine on top slowly clapping its tiny cymbals. Its painted eyes stare soulfully at him.

He starts to get up. The world lurches, and he falls backward. _Where the hell am I?..._

When he can finally sit up, he looks around. He's lying in a carved bed, the linens fine enough for a king. The air is damp. Candles are everywhere, throwing flickering shadows on the walls.

He stumbles out of bed. A cavern stretches out before him, the ceiling three men high. At one end, the ground dips down into the water, where a small boat rests. At the sight of it, pieces of his memory start to return.

_A vast, glassy lake, its surface swirling with mist. Candles all around, rising as if from the water itself. The gentle creaking of the boat beneath him. And at the bow—_

The hair rises on the back of his neck. He turns.

The Angel sits before a gilded organ at the other end of the cavern. The candlelight catches his white mask, glowing in the dark. He's bent over his work, head turned away. He doesn't seem to notice Apollo.

In a flash, everything knits together in Apollo's mind_._ Walking through the tunnels. Descending further into the bowels of the theater. Gliding across the lake, that haunting voice serenading him all the way. The Angel helping him out of the boat when they reached the cavern. The gleam in the Angel's eyes as he'd demanded:_"Sing for me!..."_

Apollo had obeyed, singing louder and better than he ever had before. And then…nothing. Had he passed out?

He stares at the figure. He can't quite believe it. Was it real? Is_ any_ of thisreal?

He's believed in his Angel for months. Bizarrely, though, now that he's actually seen the Angel, doubts pour through him. Last night, the Angel had looked ethereal, surrounded by swirling smoke. Now, he looks decidedly human.

Apollo creeps closer. The Angel doesn't turn around. From the back, it's disturbing how much he looks like Klavier. What if he _is _Klavier? Is all of this just some elaborate prank? Or is Monsieur Wright messing with him?

A sense of stupidity overwhelms him, along with a flare of anger. If this is all just a prank—if he's been believing in a fake Angel for months—he'll_ never _forgive them! He could've been kicked out of the company, or worse, hauled off to an asylum!

He's right behind the Angel. The quill stops scratching. Before Apollo loses his nerve, he grabs the white mask, yanking it off.

And sees what's underneath.

A deathly scream rends the air. The Angel stands, knocking him backwards. Apollo slams to the ground, the mask flying out of his hand.

"_DAMN YOU! _You little viper!" The Angel seizes Apollo's wrist, teeth bared. "How dare you?!..."

Apollo yanks free. He scrambles back, slipping on the damp stones. The Angel follows, his threats echoing off the cavern walls.

"CURSE YOU! You think you can betray me without consequences? After this, you shall _never_ be free!"

Apollo's back hits the wall. The Angel bears down on him. Then, just as suddenly, the Angel stops. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, before turning his back on Apollo, stumbling away. His hand is clamped over his deformed face.

Apollo waits, his heart beating like a runaway carriage. Eventually, the Angel speaks.

"Forgive me. I…reacted rather strongly. I was merely surprised by your…actions."

Apollo stares. The Angel gives a hollow chuckle.

"Stranger than you could have dreamt, is it not? You never would have thought that your angel would have the face of a demon. Surely you can see why I wear a mask."

Apollo doesn't know what to say. His breath comes out ragged.

"You don't have to respond. I know I must disgust you, loathsome gargoyle that I am. But, Justice…"

The Angel walks towards him. Apollo tries to move, but his legs are trembling too badly. The coldness of the rock seeps through his nightshirt.

The Angel crouches in front of him.

"It is possible for fear to turn to love…if you are willing to look beyond this—this repulsive carcass..." His ice-blue eyes search Apollo, pinning him. "I assure you, there is a man behind the monster, if only you are willing to..."

Terror pounds in Apollo's veins. He needs to say something, _do _something. Quickly.

Something white catches his eye. The mask lies a few feet away. Slowly, gingerly, he picks it up, holding it out.

The Angel's gaze flickers between them. After a moment, the Angel takes the mask, replacing it on his face.

Apollo waits, heart throbbing. What if that wasn't enough? What if—

"Come," says the Angel suddenly. He seizes Apollo's arm, dragging him to his feet. "We've lingered here far too long. Those two _fools _who run my theater will be wondering where you've gone…we must return."


	4. Notes

**Chapter 4: Notes**

"It's preposterous! Inconceivable!" sputters Winston. "Who would have the gall to tell us how to run our own theater!?"

"It must be a prank. Yes, that's the only explanation," says Gaspen. "Only someone with a puerile brain would think up such a childish joke!"

"To think, this 'O.G.' wants us to pay him our hard-earned francs!"

"Well, we won't be giving him a single cent!" declares Gaspen. He takes the letter and casts it into the fire, where it curls into ashes. "Whoever this 'Opera Ghost' is, they are clearly insa—"

_Bam! _Their office door flies open.

"Where is he!?" Klavier strides in, a piece of paper clutched in his hand.

"Yaaa!" Winston jumps. "Wh-Where is who?"

"Herr Justice!" Klavier slams his hand on the desk. "Where is he?"

"How should we know?" says Gaspen.

"Do not play games with me, Herren Payne! Tell me where he is!"

"W-we don't know! We swear!" Winston sweats.

"Of course you do!" snaps Klavier. "How else could you have sent me this note?"

"Note? What note?" says Winston.

"We didn't send you anything, I assure you!" protests Gaspen.

"Don't argue with me, Herren. Who else but you could have written this?"

"And just what are we supposed to have wrote?—er, written?" says Winston. Gaspen timidly takes the paper.

"_Do not fear for Monsieur Justice. The Angel of Music has him under his wing. Make no attempt to see him again."_

"Well?" says Klavier. "Didn't you write this to warn me away from your newest star?"

"Of course not!" says Winston.

"You taking a fancy to Monsieur Justice would only be a boon for this theatre!" adds Gaspen.

"Then where _is_ Apol—Herr Justice?"

"Don't look at us! The last time we saw him was onstage last night," said Gaspen.

Klavier's shoulders tense. "But if he's not with you, then where—"

_Bam! _The office door flies open again.

"Where is he?" Franziska strides into the room, closely followed by Lang.

"Ah!" Gaspen hurries forwards. "Signora, welcome ba—YEOWCH!"

"We demand to have a word with your fool of a patron!" Franziska re-coils her whip.

"What is it?" asks Klavier.

"You have the nerve to ask such questions!?" Fransizka grits her teeth. "You know perfectly well!"

"We're talking about your letter," says Lang, from behind his sunglasses.

"Letter…?" says Klavier.

"Er, did you send her a letter, Monsieur Gavin?" asks Winston.

"Of course not!"

"Foolish denials from a foolish fool!" Franziska cracks her whip on the desk. "You dare tell me that you didn't send this to Monsieur Lang!?"

"Perhaps I may examine the letter first, before you accuse me?" says Klavier. Franziska hands over a thick piece of parchment, Lang's name scrawled on the front.

"_Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered," _he reads aloud. _"Monsieur Justice will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take his place."_

For a moment, there's silence. Klavier folds the paper, looking up at Franziska.

"As convincing as the evidence may seem, Fraulein, I must deny it. I didn't write this."

"Oh, really? If you didn't send it, then who did?"

"Ugh." Winston groans, burying his face in his hands. "This…this is too much! Notes flying here, there, and everywhere!"

"And most of them seem to be about Monsieur Justice," says Gaspen. "A curious coincidence, indeed."

"Ever since we set foot in this theater, all we've heard is the name 'Justice!'" says Winston.

"Speaking of Monsieur Justice," says a voice from the doorway. Monsieur Wright stands there, Trucy behind him. "I'm happy to report that he's returned."

"_Danke Gott!" _Klavier runs a hand through his hair."Is he alright?"

"He's fine, aside from being tired."

"Hmph! That's not surprising, given that he was out doing god-knows-what last night," says Gaspen.

"Where is he now?" asks Winston.

"I sent him to the dormitories. I thought he could use some peace and quiet."

"Yeah," pipes Trucy. "He needed to rest!"

Klavier starts towards the door, but Phoenix holds up his hand.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Gavin, but you can't see him right now."

"Why not?"

"Apollo wants to be alone. He won't see anyone at the moment."

"Apol—Herr Justice will see me. I know he will. Please."

"I'm sorry, Monsieur. I'll let you know as soon as he's ready for visitors."

"You know where he was last night," says Klavier. Phoenix ducks his head, looking off to the side. "Where was he? What happened to him!?"

"I can't say."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"When you are finished, perhaps we could return to the real issue at hand?" says Franziska.

"Er…which is?..." said Gaspen.

"Ha! This is why Signor O.G. doesn't want you guys running the place." Lang tears off his sunglasses. "The new opera? The first performance is in two weeks, or so I'm told."

"Correct," says Franziska. "_Il Muto _opens soon, and we demand to know if Herr Justice will be participating."

"In that regard…I have another note." Phoenix holds up another piece of parchment.

Groans resound through the room. Winston resignedly puts out a hand.

"_Gentlemen,"_ he reads, _"I have now sent you several notes, quite amiably worded, detailing how my theater is to be run. In spite of this, you have deliberately chosen not to follow my instructions. I shall give you one last chance._

_Monsieur Justice has been returned to you, and I am most anxious that he succeed in his newfound career. In the upcoming production of Il Muto, you will therefore cast Monsieur Lang as the Page Boy, and place Monsieur Justice in the role of the Count—"_

All eyes flicker to Lang, whose brow furrows.

"_The role of the count calls for humor and zeal._ _The role of the Page Boy, on the other hand, is silent, which—"_ Winston gulps.

"What are you waiting for?" Lang's smile is deadly. "Keep going!"

"—_which makes my recommended casting…" _Winston gulps again. "…_ideal."_

He races through the rest of the letter, as though afraid Lang might kill him before he can finish.

"_I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which you shall keep empty for me. Remember, this is your last and final chance. Should you ignore my instructions again, the consequences shall be dire. _

_I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant,_

_O.G."_

A deafening silence falls. Lang cocks his head.

"Tch. Who does this guy think he is? What makes him fit to cast a show?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Franziska turns to Klavier. "This is all _your_ doing!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"These notes and these incidents! It's all a plot you've concocted in order to make your lover a star!"

_Bam! _Klavier's fist meets the wall behind him. He gives Franziska a hard stare.

"…Be _very _careful what you accuse me of, Fraulein. I would _never _put innocent lives at risk. Herr Justice is talented enough to become a star on his own merits. He doesn't need my help."

"When you're done arguing, perhaps we could return to the issue of the opera?!" snaps Winston. "Who are we going to cast?"

"Apollo, of course," says Phoenix. "Is that even a question?"

"But if we give in to the ghost's demands, he'll never stop ordering us around!" says Gaspen.

"But didn't you hear the letter?" cries Trucy. "He said the consequences would be dire!"

"Quiet, sweetheart. The grownups are talking," growls Lang. Phoenix goes toe-to-toe with him.

"You think Trucy doesn't have a point?"

"And the owners don't, either? Lang Zi says: The mountain must always stand tall against the wind!"

"Do _not _underestimate the Opera Ghost." Phoenix's eyes bore into Lang. "You can't imagine the lengths he'll go to in order to get revenge."

"Hah! It almost sounds like you know him."

Phoenix looks off to the side.

"…We've met."

"Then you tell him that he can find a different pair of singers to screw with! We're part of the Opera Populaire, and it's gonna stay that way." Lang turns to the owners. "Hey, Paynes. When are rehearsals starting?"

"Uh, w-well—soon! Good to know you're staying with us."

"Better get ready. You're gonna see a performance like you've never seen before!" Lang heads for the door. "And if that Opera Ghost shows his face…he won't know what hit him."


	5. All I Ask of You

**Chapter 5: All I Ask of You**

"_Serafimo, your disguise is perfect!" _

Apollo strikes a pose in his skirt and hat. There's a knocking sound from the orchestra.

"_Why, who can this be?..."_

"_Gentle wife, admit your loving husband."_ Lang strolls into the stage. Even under five pounds of Victorian stage makeup, he's as cool and confident as ever.

Apollo pretends to dust the scenery. He tries to focus on the opera, but his hand holding the duster is trembling. The terror from the night of the lair still bubbles in his stomach.

"_Serafimo!" _Franziska snaps. He jumps, turning around. "Away with this pretense!"

_Dammit! _How did they block this? Is he supposed to walk over to her?

"You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!" she sings. Her smile remains, but her eyes are shooting daggers. She gives a curt gesture, indicating for him to approach.

Apollo hurries to her side, ripping off his skirt and hat, and leans in for a stage kiss. As Franziska continues her solo, he glances up at box five. Klavier's gaze is fixed only on him. A flush rises in Apollo's cheeks. He wishes Klavier didn't have to see him like this. He doesn't mind the costume, but he's so distracted, it's his worst performance yet.

Suddenly, a voice booms through the theater.

"_Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept __**empty?!...**__" _

The lights flicker. Gasps rise from the audience. An icy fist closes on Apollo's heart.

"It's him!" He glances instinctively up at Klavier. Klavier half-rises from his chair, as if he can hear Apollo's words. "I know it. He's here!"

"Foolish words from a foolishly foolish fool!" hisses Franziska. "Have you forgotten that your part is _silent?_"

"_A fool, madam?..." _the voice echoes. _"Perhaps it is you who are the fool."_

For just a moment, Fransizka's glare wavers. Then, she draws herself up.

"Monsieur Edgeworth, once again, if you will."

The music swells. Apollo looks around, disbelieving. The Angel is _here!_ They all heard his voice! How can they just keep going?!

"Serafimo, away with this pretense," Fransizka continues. "You cannot speak, but kiss me in my—"

Her voice cuts off with a deafening croak.

The audience titters. She stands frozen, wide-eyed. Tries again.

"_Poor fool, he makes me laugh—"_

Halfway through the line, another deafening croak issues from her mouth. Then another. And another.

All hell breaks loose.

Franziska's composure crumples, and she runs offstage with a cry. At the same time, Lang runs onstage, his hand flying to his belt _(does he have a revolver concealed in his costume!? _Apollo wonders._) _The chorus screams and runs for the wings. The Paynes yell frantically for the stage hands to drop the curtain.

Over it all, in the background, a deadly laugh echoes through the theater.

The curtain falls, plunging the stage into darkness. Apollo stands frozen as the chaos swirls around him.

_I am your Angel of Music…_

"Polly!" Trucy is beside him, shaking him. "Are you okay? Say something!"

Apollo can't speak. That maniacal laugh echoes in his head. He's only vaguely aware of hands leading him backstage, jamming his arms into ruffled sleeves. Trucy struggles with the shiny buttons on the Count's vest. Is he supposed to take over the role?

He closes his eyes. The image of the Angel's crazed eyes burns in his mind. Those same eyes that had held softness only a moment before. Those fingers that had played the organ so beautifully, reaching out for Apollo's throat.

_I am your Angel of music…_

Is this truly the Angel he once knew?

Then, without warning, screams erupt outside the dressing room.

Apollo is out the door before he realizes what he's doing. He bolts down the hall, knocking people aside. Ballet girls are screaming, running away from the stage area. Apollo pushes past them. He's nearly to the wings when he crashes right into someone.

"_Mein Liebling! _Are you alright?"

"Klavier?" Relief sweeps through him, but it's quickly strangled by panic. "Yeah, I'm fine. What happened!?"

"There was an accident." Klavier looks grave. "Herren Payne told the ballet to put on the piece from Act 3, but—while the dancers were performing—" He grimaces. "The rigging man, Sahwit, is dead. He fell from the catwalk, in front of everyone."

Apollo pushes past Klavier, looking up.

"Mein Liebling, wait—!"

Apollo doesn't hear him. The body revolves slowly in place, suspended from the end of a long noose. The knot is smooth, practiced—familiar—

_The boat strikes the shore with a gentle bump_. _The Angel leaps out and seizes a rope, looping it around the stern. With almost inhuman speed, he knots it, pulling tight—_

"You shouldn't have to see such horrible things." Klavier steps in front of him. He holds Apollo's shoulders. "Come on, let's get out of here, and we'll—"

Apollo seizes his arm, running in the opposite direction.

"_Scheisse;_ Apollo—!"

He's too panicked to care. They sprint through the theater, climbing staircase after staircase. Eventually, he kicks open a trapdoor to the roof, climbing through. Frosty air blasts their cheeks.

"Apollo!" Klavier grabs his shoulders. "What's going on? Why have you brought us here?"

"No—!" Apollo looks around wildly. _Stupid! _What the hell was he thinking!? Now they're both trapped!

"We have to go back. They'll be wondering what happened to you." Klavier sweeps his bangs out of his eyes.

"No, we can't!" Apollo protests. "You don't understand! He'll kill you!"

"Who?"

"The Angel!"

"The Angel? What are you talking—?"

"The _Phantom!_ The ghost that's haunting the theater, the one that's causing all the accidents!"

"Mein Liebling, that's just a fable. There is no Phantom."

"He'sreal." Apollo clenches his fists. "Sahwit's death was no accident. The Phantom killed him. If we go back there, he'll kill you_, _too!"

"Isn't it more likely that he simply fell?" Klavier moves to brush snow out of Apollo's eyes. "What evidence do you have that this 'Phantom' is real?"

"I've _seen_ him!" Apollo twists out of his grip, looking Klavier dead in the eyes. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. I've been to his lair! That's where I was on the night I disappeared!"

"_What!?"_

"The Angel—the Phantom—he came and took me to his lair, way beneath the opera house." Apollo grimaces as the memories come flooding back. "In the end, he let me go, but…I saw his face. It was horrible. It hardly even _looked _like a face!" He squeezes his eyes shut. "And his music…oh, god. It was like—it was like he hypnotized me, or something. I couldn't think. I thought I'd be trapped down there forever. I—I thought—" _Teeth bared, hand outstretched, fingers reaching for his throat— _"I thought he was going to kill me."

"_Mein Gott…"_ Klavier stares at him. Apollo swallows.

"I don't care if you don't believe me. Just go. Get out of here, _now, _before it's too late!"

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"You were sitting in Box Five. He told them to keep it open. He doesn't forgive stuff like that!"

"You're insane if you think I'd just leave you here!"

Apollo gives a wild laugh. "I'm already insane. A dancer who's been taking singing lessons from a disembodied voice claiming to be an angel? How do you think _that'll _sound to everyone? I'm surprised they haven't locked me up already!"

"I will not let that happen." Klavier holds Apollo's shoulders. "If this Phantom truly exists, we'll catch him."

"You don't—"

"Apollo. _I will not leave you._" Klavier's hands slide upward to cradle Apollo's face. "No matter the risk, I'm staying by your side."

"Damn you!" His voice cracks. "Damn it, I—you—I'm not worth it; I never have been—"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Do I really have to spell it out? I'm a _dancer, _for God's sake!" The lump in his throat swells, threatening to cut off his voice. "You're the fucking _Vicompte!_ You can't go and put yourself in danger for me. I'm not worth it!"

"_Bullshit." _Klavier meets Apollo's gaze, his blue eyes blazing. "You are, without a doubt, the most worthy man I have ever known. Why else would you be trying to convince me to leave you for my own safety? But leaving you would destroy me just as surely as staying. Mein Liebling, you are my world. Whatever hellish plot is at work here, I refuse to let it destroy the man I love."

All other thoughts fly out of Apollo's head.

"The—I—what?"

"I love you." Snow-damp strands of hair hang down into Klavier's eyes. "Rage at me, push me away, but that fact will not change. I've loved you ever since we were children."

Heat explodes in Apollo's stomach. His breath comes in short, icy puffs.

"All these years, I was afraid of my father's disapproval. I should have come after you once you left, should have done whatever it took to find you again. I didn't, and for that I'll never forgive myself. I only thank Fate that she brought us together again. She's given me the chance to say what I should have said long ago. Mein Liebling…forgive me."

"I…no; no, it's not your fault," he stammers. He's shaking.

"I…don't want to presume that things are still the same as they were, back in our attic." Klavier's face falls. "Do you—do you still feel the same? Or perhaps…"

"I—no, I do. I do!" Dammit, why did it have to happen like _this?_ "I—I love you, too, Klavier! I'm sorry. You don't have anything to blame yourself for, okay?"

"You truly—" Klavier's eyes widen. "You're…not just saying that to tease me, ja?"

"No! Why would I tease you about something like that? Only a total jerk would make fun of someone who's just proclaimed their love."

A grin flashes across Klavier's face. "In that case, do _I_ have permission to tease _you?_"

"Oh, ha-ha, very funny. Come on, you're not a jerk."

"_Nein; _you're forgetting, I am the boy who used to steal chocolates from his father's private stash, all to enjoy them with my secret lover."

"His _private stash?!_ You told me they were yours!"

"I didn't want you to feel guilty." Klavier smirks. "Face it, Herr Forehead. You've just proclaimed your love to a scoundrel."

Apollo sweeps his hair back. "Yeah, well…maybe that's not so bad."

"But in all seriousness…you truly mean it, ja?" Klavier's gaze is tender.

"Well…y-yeah. I mean, that's what I said, right?"

The smile on Klavier's face is more beautiful than the sunrise and sunset combined. He pulls Apollo into an embrace, leaning his cheek against the top of Apollo's head. Apollo feels like his heart might explode. He can feel Klavier's heartbeat, firm and strong.

"Apollo…" Klavier breathes. "Apollo…"

"_Apollo…" _The voice echoes across the roof.

Apollo jerks out of Klavier's arms.

"What was that?!"

"What was what?" says Klavier.

"That voice!" Apollo's heart jumps into his throat. "He's here. Oh god, he's here!—"

"Where!?"

"I—I don't know." Apollo looks around. "Somewhere—oh god. We have to go; we have to go; we have to get out of here—!"

"It's alright!Apollo, it's alright. There's no one here." Klavier enfolds Apollo in his arms once again. "I promise, I won't let anything hurt you. You're safe."

It's almost magical, how much his words calm Apollo. He hugs Klavier tighter.

"We've got to get you out of here," says Klavier suddenly. "Being in this wretched place isn't doing you any favors. Come and live with me, and we can—"

"Wait, what? Live—live with you?"

"Ja, of course. Our estate has plenty of room. I would make sure you have everything you desire."

"But, I—no, I can't do that," he protests. "I mean, wouldn't that be scandalous? You know…living with a man who's not…you know?"

"_Nein, _I don't know." Klavier's mouth twitches. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Shut up! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

"But how could I miss the opportunity to see you blush so beautifully?"

Apollo sucks in his burning cheeks. _Bastard. _

"Won't it be a problem if you're found living with a man who's not your husband?" He forces the words out.

"Would it surprise you to learn I don't care about scandals?"

"_I _care," he says firmly. "There's no way I'm gonna be responsible for ruining your reputation."

Klavier runs a hand through his snow-covered hair, before he smiles. "Then I suppose there is only one logical solution, _ja_?"

"Huh?" Then it clicks. "Wait—you don't mean—!"

"Tongues will wag less if we're betrothed." Klavier suddenly looks serious. "But…I do not want this to be a front. If we are to be betrothed, I want it to be real."

Apollo's lungs feel as frozen as his fingers.

"R-real?"

"I've said that I will remain by your side. I would be happy to do that for a lifetime, if you would let me."

"Klavier..."

Klavier takes Apollo's face in his hands.

"Say you'll share a lifetime with me. I will be with you, beside you, no matter what. Anywhere you go, let me go, too." He stares down at Apollo. Apollo's heart is beating overtime. "Apollo…that's all I ask of you."

"Um, y-yeah. I mean, I—yes. Yes!" Why can't he ever get his damned tongue to work?

Just as he's wishing he were more eloquent, Klavier leans down. Apollo barely has time to open his mouth before Klavier captures Apollo's lips with his own. They're dry from the cold, but warm and sure and firm. He tastes of wine and goodness, and, oh, god—

Warmth sweeps through him like a wave. He pulls Klavier closer, his hands snaking around the back of Klavier's head. Klavier smiles into the kiss, before he suddenly grabs Apollo's waist, whirling him around.

"Whooooaaaaaahhhh!" Apollo hangs on for dear life. When Klavier sets him down, he wobbles. "H-hey, watch it! I could've gone flying off the roof!"

"Then I would catch you."

"Uh, last I checked, you can't fly."

"_Nein,_ but I could at least hold you in my arms as we plummet to earth together. It would be a beautiful spectacle, _ja_?"

Apollo rolls his eyes. "Is our entire married life gonna be like this?"

Klavier kisses him again. "I suppose we'll have to find out, ja?"

Just then, Apollo remembers the show. "Oh, shit!"

"Sheisse! They'll be wondering where you are." Klavier opens the trapdoor. "Though I'm sure that stealing a moment alone with your fiancée is a perfectly valid excuse."

"We weren't even fiancées until a minute ago!"

"But a minute is made up of many moments, ja?"

"Klavier—would you wait for me outside after the performance?" says Apollo. "You were right. I—I can't spend another night here. I'd love to come live with you, if it's okay."

"I'll be waiting with my finest horses," says Klavier. He gestures. "Come, Mein Liebling. Let us not deprive the audience of their star any longer."

* * *

_He watches the trapdoor close. Blood thunders in his ears. _

_He'd given the boy everything. __**Everything.**__ His time, his effort, his __**music.**__ It's thanks to him that Apollo's song has taken wing. And how does the brat repay him?_

_His fists shake. He remembers that beautiful, bright smile, shining in the mirror, while he stood on the other side, patiently coaching, patiently waiting, yearning—_

_That smile, directed at that sly, shallow, simpering __**fool **__of a Vicompte__**.**_

_Rage pulses through him with each thundering heartbeat. They will curse this day._

* * *

The roar of the audience could fell a house. Apollo takes a bow, eyes fixed on Box Five. Klavier—his _fiancée, _Apollo reminds himself; god, he can hardly believe it—applauds, beaming down at him. It's as if the moment exists only for them.

Apollo grins, getting ready to bow again.

_BANG. _A shower of sparks bursts from the chandelier.

"_Behold!" _The voice booms over the shrieks of the audience. The chandelier wobbles, sparks again. _"He is singing to bring down the chandelier!..."_

With another _BANG_, it breaks from the ceiling, swinging down towards him. People dive out of their seats, screaming. Apollo can only stare, frozen.

"_APOLLO!"_

Something slams into him. The back of his head explodes in pain. Little lights burst in his vision.

"Apollo! Apollo, are you alright?" A blurry shape moves above him. Klavier's face gradually swims back into focus.

"M'fine," he chokes out. "You?"

"Ja, I'm alright." Klavier wipes a hand across his own forehead. It comes away soaked in red. Only then does Apollo register the massive cut across Klavier's forehead.

"_Polly!" _Trucy is suddenly beside them."Polly, Monsieur Gavin, are you okay!?"

"_Ja, _danke."

"No, you're _not _okay!" Apollo struggles to sit up. "We have to get you to a doctor!"

"I'll find Daddy!" Trucy flees. Apollo tears off his cravat, pressing it to Klavier's wound. The dust-coated remains of the chandelier lie scattered across the stage. He looks up at the darkened ceiling.

He swore he could still hear laughter.


	6. Masquerade

***Content warning for this chapter—mentions of physical abuse/torture.

**Chapter 6: Masquerade**

Walking into the Opera House, it's like someone has set off a fireworks display.

The gilded moldings have been polished to gleaming. Lords and ladies swirl around the massive dance floor, their costumes glittering like jewels. The newly-repaired chandelier blazes overhead. From every corner echo the sounds of laughter, swooshing fabric, and gentle clinkingof glasses.

Apollo takes a deep breath, making sure his mask is secure.

"Mein Leibling, are you alright?" Klavier takes his hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I can call the carriage for us right now."

"No, I—I want to do this." His fingers move automatically to fiddle with his engagement ring, before he remembers he's concealed it around his neck. It's become a habit in the six months since he moved out of the Opera House. "If I don't, it's like—it's like he wins, you know?"

"I don't give a damn about him_._ I'm worried about _you._"

"I'll be _fine._ Besides, I've got a Hussar soldier protecting me, after all."

Klavier sighs melodramatically, shaking his head.

"Alas, without my trusty steed, I fear I am useless."

"We've been over this!" he protests. "No _way _was I gonna wear a horse costume!"

"But you would have looked so _dashing _in that mask_. _I cut the eyeholes myself."

"Forget it. I'd rather throw myself off the roof than be seen in that thing!"

"Ach, Mein Leibling, you wound me!" Klavier pretends to be stabbed in the stomach.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should've studied your swordplay a little harder, Monsieur Soldier," he retorts. Klavier puts an arm around him, kissing his cheek.

"If I must die, at least I am slain by the man that I love."

"Klavier, please—not here," says Apollo, twisting away from his embrace. He glances around at the other guests.

"And why not? It's not a crime to be engaged, ja?"

"It's too risky. We don't know who could be here."

"Mein Leibling, don't worry. I spoke with Herren Payne myself. They haven't seen hide or hair of the Phantom since you left. Either he's gone, or he's realized that he overplayed his hand when he tried to drop that chandelier on you. It would be far too dangerous for him to show his face now."

"I guess you're right."

"Of course. When am I ever wrong?"

Apollo rolls his eyes.

"C'mon. Let's not spend the whole evening bickering," he says. "I'd just feel safer if we were more…subtle, you know?"

"Your wish is my command." Klavier plucks two glasses of wine from the tray of a nearby server, passing one to Apollo. Lowering his voice, he raises it slightly, giving Apollo a soft smile. "To my future husband."

Apollo smiles back. The wine is delicious, almost as good as the bottles from the Gavins' extensive wine cellar. The Paynes have clearly pulled out all the stops for this evening.

As he and Klavier stroll through the crowd, Apollo spots some familiar faces. The Paynes are there, in costumes that cost more than Apollo would have made from a lifetime of dancing. Lang and Franziska, dressed as a witch and warlock, are discussing business at a table. Trucy finds Apollo and Klavier almost immediately, shining like a star in a ringmaster's costume. She points across the room, where Phoenix, dressed as a court fool, is engrossed in conversation with a pirate whom Trucy claims is Edgeworth.

"They've danced together twice," says Trucy, giggling.

"Indeed? Perhaps we should follow their lead," says Klavier, turning to Apollo. He wavers.

"Uh…I dunno."

"C'mon, Polly! As long as you're here, you should at least _try_ to have fun," says Trucy.

"Personally, I'm not sure that particular word is in Herr Forehead's vocabulary," says Klavier.

"H-Hey, I can have fun! I could out-dance anyone here!"

"That's an awfully bit claim to make, Mein Leibling. Can you back up these wild claims of yours?"

"Oh, I'll prove it!" Emboldened by the wine, he seizes Klavier's hand, dragging him to the dance floor. As the orchestra strikes up a tune, Klavier pulls Apollo close. Together, they whirl around the floor in a waltz. The rest of the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of them behind. Apollo feels his fears start to fade in the glow of both the spirits and the spectacle.

He hardly notices when the music slows. Klavier looks down at him, cheeks flushed from drink and dancing. Apollo smiles back. What was he afraid of? No matter what, he's safe with his love. He starts to lean in for a kiss. Klavier follows, bending down to meet him.

_CRASH! _The doors at the top of the grand staircase fly open. Darkness sweeps through the room as a gust of wind blows out the candles. People cry out, turning to look at the figure in the doorway. Fear clenches around Apollo's heart like a vise.

The figure is dressed as the Red Death, complete with a long cloak and a broad-brimmed hat. His long blond hair falls over one shoulder, his whole face concealed beneath a skull-like mask. There's a large leather-bound book under his arm.

"Good evening, my lords and ladies. I trust I am not too late?..."

The voice is smooth, elegant, horribly familiar. Apollo's legs feel frozen.

_No. God, no; please!..._

The Phantom steps forward.

"Why so silent, good Messieurs?" He spreads his hands, gesturing. "Surely you didn't think that I had left you for good?..."

He begins descending the stairs, one at a time. Apollo expects Klavier to move, to draw his sword, do anything—but when he glances at Klavier, he's staring at the Phantom with an expression akin to horror. Apollo can't place it.

"I'm sure I've been greatly missed. Unfortunately, composing requires my full concentration. I am happy to say, however, that my latest masterpiece is finally complete." He raises the book high in the air. "I give you your next opera, to be performed within the month: _Don Juan Triumphant!_"

He throws the book at the owners' feet, locking their gaze.

"I would advise you to comply fully this time. After all…I'm sure you would agree there are worse things than a shattered chandelier."

The Paynes visibly gulp, edging away. The Phantom turns back to the crowd. His eyes find Apollo, and his brow furrows.

Ice cascades into Apollo's stomach. The Phantom moves towards him, descending the remaining stairs. Klavier makes to step in front of Apollo, but he grabs Klavier's shoulder.

"Wait."

"Mein Liebling, what—?"

"Trust me!" He pushes past Klavier, walking towards the Phantom. He doesn't know where this sudden surge of courage came from. By all accounts, he should be curled in a ball, cowering on the floor. But in this moment, all he knows is a strange, wild determination. Words play in his mind, ones he's wanted to say a thousand times before.

_I'm through with our lessons, _he rehearses. _Leave me alone! Don't ever come near us again!_

They're barely an arm's length apart. The Angel's gaze bores into him, burning out of the dark holes in his mask. Apollo opens his mouth. Then, the Angel's gaze drops to Apollo's chest.

Too late, he looks down and sees the ring, sitting visibly over his heart.

The Phantom leaps forward, seizing it. With a violent tug, the chain breaks. He holds it up.

"_Your chains are still mine!"_ he cries. He points at Apollo. _"You shall sing for ME!..."_

Before Apollo can react, there's a burst of flame. The next thing he knows, he's kneeling on the floor, spots bursting in his eyes. The Phantom is gone.

"Mein Liebling!—" Klavier is at his side. He helps Apollo up. Guests scream and run for the exits. In the midst of the chaos, a familiar figure darts past them.

"Herr Wright!" Klavier takes off after him. _"Herr Wright!—"_

"Klavier!" Apollo chase him into the backstage area, until they finally catch up.

"_Herr Wright!" _Klavier seizes Phoenix's arm, spinning him around.

"Can I help you, Messieurs?" says Phoenix, his tone much too casual.

"_Ja._" Klavier's voice lowers to a growl. "You can help by stopping this ridiculous _game_ you're playing and tell us the _truth!_"

"The truth? I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do!" says Apollo. "You know about the Ang—the _Phantom! _You have to tell us everything!"

"Me? I'm just the ballet teacher. I don't know any more about him than you do."

"Objection!"Apollo's voice echoes off the walls. "You knew about my lessons with the Angel even before my debut! You're the one who delivers all his notes to the owners! Even if you haven't met him, you must know _something!_"

"He's met him," says Klavier, his hand still fastened on Monsieur Wright's arm. "That's what you told Monsieur Lang, was it not?"

"As much as I wish I could help you, Messieurs, there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry."

"Yes, there _is!_" argues Apollo. He knows he sounds childish, but he doesn't _care. _"You could solve this whole mess right now, but you just don't care!"

"On the contrary, I care about _both _of you. Which is why I'm not telling you anything."

"And how does that help us!?" says Klavier. "How can we possibly hope to defeat the Phantom if we don't know who we're up against?—"

"You _can't _defeat him. That's the point_._ The minute I tell you anything, you'll try and set a trap for him. It won't work."

"How do you know that for certain?" argues Klavier.

"This theatre is his kingdom." Phoenix gestures to the ceiling. "He knows it better than anyone. How do you think I've survived this long? I know better than to pick fights with ghosts."

"So…what!? You're just going to ignore?! Let him keep killing people?!" says Apollo incredulously.

"Do I have a choice? I have a _daughter! _I'm not about to put Trucy in danger by trying to fight a battle I can't yet win!"

"And what about _me!?"_ Apollo nearly screams. "I thought—I thought you cared about me! If you knew he was dangerous, why didn't you…?"

"I didn't know." Phoenix grimaces. "I didn't know until it was too late. By the time I realized he was teaching you, stopping the lessons would've put you in more danger than letting them continue…I'm sorry."

"Hold on!" says Klavier suddenly. He holds up his hand. "Herr Wright…you said 'yet.' A battle you couldn't _yet _win. What does that mean?"

Apollo looks at Phoenix, his eyes widening.

"Monsieur Wright…are you saying…you have a plan!? A plan to beat the Phantom?!"

"Believe what you want." Phoenix looks off to the side. "But if you know what's good for you, you'll both get out of here, _now._"

"I can't just leave you all here," says Apollo. "Maybe you're okay with letting him continue to run this theatre, but I'm not!"

"Herr Forehead is right." Klavier releases Phoenix, trying to get his voice under control. "Whoever this Phantom is, he's already proven he doesn't mind taking innocent lives. Please, Herr Wright. For all our sakes. Please, tell us what you can."

There's a long pause, before Phoenix finally nods.

"Alright." He glances around. "Follow me."

He leads them outside to the stables, where they stand among the horses and piles of hay.

"It was years ago," he begins quietly. "I had only just started here as Ballet Master. I was young, inexperienced, and pretty stupid at times…but anyway. There was a travelling carnival in Paris. They had everything: tumblers, conjurers…human oddities."

"What do you mean?" says Apollo.

"It was barbaric." Phoenix grimaces. "People, real people, locked in cages. Most of them were deformed, either by accidents or from birth." He glances down. "He was one of them."

"The _Phantom?_"

"Yes. I'll never forget it." Phoenix squeezes his eyes shut. "He sat there, legs chained. People were pointing at him, laughing, spitting on him, but he didn't seem to notice. He just sat on a stool, playing his violin."

"A violin?" says Klavier, his eyes widening. "You're…you're certain?!"

"I can still see it clearly. He was a composer, a magician, an engineer…a genius."

"How did he get there?!" Klavier's fists are curled so tightly they're nearly white. "How did he end up in the carnival?!"

"I don't know."

"Where is this carnival now?! Surely there must be someone there who can tell us where he came from!"

"Klavier! Are you okay?" Apollo grabs Klavier's arm. At the sound of his voice, Klavier looks over at him, quickly nodding.

"J-ja." He takes a breath, voice trembling. "Forgive me."

"It's alright." Phoenix smoothes his shirt. "The carnival left Paris after a week. I have no idea where they are now. All I know is that before they left, I went back there, late at night…and I released him."

Apollo's jaw drops.

"_WHAT!?" _

"You would've done the same thing, if you'd seen him." Phoenix looks grim. "They were _beating_ him. _No one_ deserves that kind of treatment!" He swallows. "I brought him to the Opera House, thinking I'd only hide him here for a little while."

"You brought him _here!?_" says Klavier incredulously.

"I didn't know anywhere else to bring him, in the moment." Phoenix sweeps a hand over his hair. "I only meant to hide him for a day or two. Just until I could find somewhere else for him to go, somewhere safe. But within a day or two…he disappeared. I thought he had run away. And then we got the first letter. Monsieur Judge naturally assumed it was a prank...and then the 'accidents' started happening. I couldn't think of anything else to do, except play along."

"So that's why he leaves you alone? Because you saved him?" says Apollo.

"Oh no; he'd happily kill me if he wanted to. I'm useful to him. That's why he leaves me alone, despite knowing what I do. I can talk to people in the open, whereas that's rather difficult for him. He's been manipulating us ever since I can remember, but…" Phoenix looks down. "Until now, he'd never killed anyone."

"There must be a reason," says Klavier, his voice strangely soft. "Surely he wasn't always a madman!"

Phoenix looks at him curiously.

"You seem to have sympathy for him, Vicompte."

Klavier quickly shakes his head.

"_Nein._ I harbor no sympathy for the fiend who is torturing my beloved. I…simply wonder what made him who he is."

"I see," says Phoenix. Apollo's brow furrows. Something about all this feels _off, _but he can't think what.

For a few minutes, they stand in silence. Finally, Phoenix breaks it.

"So, now you know." He moves some hay with his foot. "Whatever you do…just be careful, okay? Remember, he's a genius. If you think you're two steps ahead, he's bound to be three. In order to surprise him, you have to surprise even yourself."


End file.
